


Your Kisses Melt Gold

by Chocolatpen



Series: Haikyuu Jukebox [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Infidelity, M/M, Smoking, Songfic, Swearing, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:02:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24607408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chocolatpen/pseuds/Chocolatpen
Summary: It’s the height of summer when Akaashi and Bokuto’s on-and-off relationship reaches a fever pitch.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Series: Haikyuu Jukebox [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1892254
Comments: 17
Kudos: 117





	Your Kisses Melt Gold

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!! I know, no warnings? That's so unlike me ^^" I just wanted to write some smut that has more emotion than that horror show in 'Touchdown'. I might just start a series of one-shots inspired by music, honestly.
> 
> This piece was inspired by 處處吻 by Miriam Yeung.
> 
> [This is the cover that inspired me,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gTSEUBpnKOI) and [this is the english version.](https://www.bilibili.com/video/av97889755/)
> 
> I don't have a beta reader, but I'll check back and edit away any mistakes you see. Let me know what y'all think!! And please do leave some kudos/comments if you enjoy :D

Akaashi Keiji sighs deeply, breathing out a puff of smoke as he stares down at the street. Everyone looks like ants from this height, so small and insignificant.

Akaashi takes another long drag from his cigarette, kicking his legs where they dangle off the balcony. The summer heat seems to pierce through his skin, muggy humidity casting a fog around his heavy, lazy body.

_Fuck_. Akaashi thinks, slouching back on his elbows. He sweeps back the dark locks plastered to his forehead, squinting up at the sun. Mint and ash escape his mouth in a soft hiss, smoke wafting up into the clear blue sky.

A bead of sweat rolls past Akaashi’s jaw, down his neck and into the collar of his t-shirt.

The front door opens and closes from somewhere far into the apartment. Akaashi only knows because of the loud clattering sound it makes whenever Bokuto forgets his strength and slams it into their shoe rack. There’s a big chip where the corner of the door cuts into the beat-up plastic, but Bokuto never remembers, never changes.

“I’m home!” Bokuto’s loud, cheery voice cuts through the stifling heat. “Akaashi!”

Akaashi blinks once, slowly, and stuffs out his cigarette on the worn tiles. _Fuck you_.

“Akaashi?” Bokuto’s footsteps round the corner, heavy and sure. They stop, and then Bokuto’s voice turns disapproving. “You’re smoking again? I thought you said you quit.”

Akaashi tips his head back, till Bokuto Koutarou stares back at him, upside down. “I did.”

There’s accusation in Akaashi’s gaze. He doesn’t hold back, he hasn’t for months, now. Akaashi has cycled through a whole spectrum – frustrated looks to disappointed looks to defeated looks – all tailored to the emotions that Akaashi has buried deep within him.

There are so many questions Akaashi can ask, so many damning words. _Where were you? You’re late._

_You promised._

_Did you forget?_

None of it actually matters, though. There’s nothing in the world Akaashi can say that will change a thing.

So Akaashi just stopped saying anything at all.

Akaashi’s eyes flicker towards their measly dining table; a flimsy, rickety thing. Whatever Akaashi cooked for lunch is still there, probably past-spoiled and fly-infested by now. There are still two portions, because Akaashi lost his appetite after the first hour.

Akaashi goes back to looking out the balcony, goes back to looking back down at the people dotting the street. If anything, Bokuto should blame himself for the way his hair stands out, even amongst a crowd of ant-like figures.

Akaashi raises his legs perpendicular to his torso, squeezes his toes together. “I saw you. Downstairs.”

Bokuto doesn’t say anything. He knows best, how Akaashi hates it a hundred times more when he tries to deny it even after being caught red-handed. It’s past Akaashi – way, way past Akaashi – to give Bokuto any slack.

Bokuto knew what he was doing, when he pulled that girl into his arms and kissed her under the blistering sunrays.

Right.

Below.

Their.

Apartment.

Honestly, Akaashi almost burst out laughing when he saw them together. He’s always known that Bokuto can be somewhat absent-minded, but this just takes the cake. _What a fucking dick._

Akaashi feels the arms winding around his chest first, then the warm breath puffing against his ear, and the chin digging sharply into his shoulder.

Bokuto swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing against Akaashi’s skin. “You know that I love you-”

Akaashi closes his eyes, and that in itself is like a slap to Bokuto’s face.

Bokuto cuts himself off, and for a minute all Akaashi can hear is the loud buzzing of the cicadas. Oh, to be free enough to scream as loudly as possible. Akaashi hates cicadas, and he hates summer because of their incessant, piercing cries.

“I didn’t sign up for this,” Akaashi finally sighs, even though he did. Akaashi is not an idiot, but he has his addictions – some of them more poisonous than others.

In the moment, Akaashi regrets stubbing out his cigarette. He curls his hands around the rusted metal railings instead, in an attempt to force the twitching to stop. The metal is close to scalding, biting into the flesh of his palms, but somehow the heat within Akaashi is still that much more painful.

Akaashi thinks back, on the years he’s spent with Bokuto – getting together, finding out about his infidelity, breaking up, and repeating the cycle over and over and over again.

_How long? Who are they?_

Akaashi grits his teeth, lets the burn of sunbaked metal tear into him.

_Why?_

There’s no point confronting Bokuto about his actions. Not when Akaashi has gone through this entire scenario, through _every_ scenario, only to end up with the same heart-shattering outcome each time. All the questions Akaashi could have asked have been asked, and all the excuses Bokuto could have uttered have been said.

It’s like Akaashi’s played a game for two years, feeling more prepared each time yet always falling just short of defeating the final boss. At some point, it’s just time to give up and throw the whole fucking game away.

Bokuto’s palms are warm and damp as they slide along Akaashi’s jaw, fingers familiar as they tilt Akaashi’s head to the side. Akaashi should know better too, than to let Bokuto do this, but there’s always been something about Bokuto that makes him cave in.

Their lips meet, gentle and fluttering in uncertainty. Bokuto’s mouth is soft and waiting, and it’s really only out of habit that Akaashi drops his jaw.

The kiss grows heated quickly, because Akaashi is sparking with pleasure on the inside and burning up on the outside . It’s always like this with Bokuto – his mind goes blank, thoughts scattered to the wind, and all Akaashi can think about are the bright golden eyes focused solely on him; the big, warm hands skirting and caressing and _touching_.

Akaashi twists his body, pulling his legs back onto the positively boiling balcony tiles, and presses right back against Bokuto. Their bodies are so familiar to each other that there’s no hesitation, just Bokuto lifting Akaashi into his lap and trapping him within muscle-thick limbs. The kiss never breaks, not even once, even as their teeth knock together and their tongues wrestle.

Bokuto groans, a deep rumble in his chest, and his hands tighten around Akaashi like a safety belt.

Like Bokuto isn’t the danger here.

Akaashi tears himself away, panting hard. He glares up at Bokuto, jade green clashing with molten gold, and then he clenches his fists and shoves Bokuto in the chest. They topple over, Bokuto onto the tatami and Akaashi on top of him, as Akaashi digs his fingers into the hard bone of Bokuto’s jawline and the soft flesh of his flushed cheeks.

In the moment, Akaashi can almost imagine Bokuto as he used to be. Shy, as he confessed to Akaashi outside the gym after their final match together. Hopeful, as Akaashi applied to the same university to be close to him. Delighted, as they moved in together. Loving, as he entered Akaashi for the first time. Even remorseful, the first time Akaashi came home to darkness and an unfamiliar man in their bed.

There’s none of that now, just deep, endless pools of golden bronze. Unreadable, unrecognizable.

The Akaashi of the past would have laughed at him, his most pathetic future self.

Akaashi Keiji, unable to read Bokuto Koutarou? Unbelievable.

Bokuto startles when a few wet droplets land on his face, but he settles when he realizes that it’s just Akaashi’s sweat, dripping down from his dark hairline and landing on Bokuto’s slick-shiny skin.

No, Akaashi is past crying. He buries himself in university assignments and his part-time job, buries his feelings with sticks of nicotine and tar. They’re both too used to this, too detached, and if Bokuto is unreadable than Akaashi is a brick wall.

It’s funny how they understand each other less with every minute they spend together.

Growing tired of the silence, Bokuto squeezes Akaashi’s waist and flips them over. Akaashi’s head thumps against the floor. It’s not painful, but he does lose a breath. Akaashi wishes that it knocked some sense into him, too, but that’s probably too much to ask.

“You’re thinking too much,” Bokuto soothes, thighs pressing Akaashi’s legs into the floor.

When Bokuto bends down, their faces mere inches apart, Akaashi searches those sweet honey irises for any hint of regret. There’s nothing, and then there’s even less than that when Bokuto captures Akaashi’s lips in another deep kiss.

It’s electrifying, even dizzying, and Akaashi melts into Bokuto like he’s ice cream fallen on a summer sidewalk.

When Bokuto pulls back, he moves his attention away from Akaashi’s mouth. His butterfly kisses trail down the line of Akaashi’s jaw, down the length of his neck. Bokuto pauses then, bunching Akaashi’s shirt up against his chin and biting hard on his collarbone. He grins, admiring the purple mark he left behind, before continuing along Akaashi’s torso till he’s mouthing at Akaashi’s hardening cock through the thin fabric of his cotton boxers.

Akaashi just watches, impassive, as Bokuto strips him and fumbles for the lube and condoms stashed under their coffee table.

Bokuto frees his own cock first, and it springs out of his pants like it’s the first time it’s getting attention today. When Bokuto rolls a condom over his length, smooth and practiced, Akaashi can’t help but wonder how many times Bokuto has done this, how many people he’s impaled with just a sliver of latex between them.

The lube is cold, and Akaashi’s breath hitches when Bokuto’s fingers prod against his entrance. He’s tensing, but it’s only because the intrusion feels like ice against Akaashi’s balmy skin.

Bokuto frowns, and Akaashi wants to snap at him. He’s not a girl. He doesn’t have a space inside him made just for Bokuto’s cock, and if Bokuto wants him then he has to prepare Akaashi properly beforehand.

“Fuck,” Akaashi hisses, fists clenching as Bokuto suddenly thrusts another finger in him. He carelessly pistons them in and out of Akaashi’s asshole. Akaashi glowers, then throws a sweaty arm over his eyes in a bid to force himself to relax.

It seems to work, because the uncomfortable sensation fades off into muted pleasure. Bokuto realizes this too, grunting in satisfaction and pulling his fingers out. Akaashi feels his asshole flutter a little as the digits exit his body, but then there’s something hot and thick pressing into him and there’s no time for other useless thoughts.

Bokuto’s cock is thick and long, and Akaashi whines as he feels his walls stretching around it. It seems like forever before Bokuto bottoms out in him, their sweaty thighs pressed flush against each other.

“Too fucking tight,” Bokuto’s voice comes out gravelly, and his thick eyebrows are knitted together above his darkened gaze. He sits back on his knees, and Akaashi chokes on a gasp as he feels the hot appendage shift inside him.

When Bokuto starts thrusting, Akaashi feels like he may lose his mind.

Everything is too much, too warm. It’s too humid, musk permeating the stale air of their apartment, and the thick atmosphere is strangling Akaashi like a boa constrictor. He regrets baking out in the balcony, splayed out like a cold-blooded creature yearning for the sun, because his skin is so heated that Bokuto’s warmth is driving him crazy.

“Koutarou,” Akaashi moans, eyes sliding closed as he circles his arms around Bokuto’s neck. He’s drenched, sweat rolling down his back and soaking into the material of his shirt.

Their stomachs are grind firmly against each other with every thrust. Bokuto’s shirt sticks to the sweat dotting Akaashi’s torso, but neither of them seems to care.

“Keiji,” Bokuto grunts back, rolling his hips. Akaashi gasps, and Bokuto takes the opportunity to lean down for a kiss.

There’s no playing around with this one, their mouths already open before their lips touch. Akaashi sticks his tongue into Bokuto’s mouth, running it over his teeth and massaging the thick, warm wetness of his tongue.

It’s always been about the kisses, with them, so it doesn’t take Bokuto long to cum.

Akaashi feels it, the way Bokuto’s cock pumps semen into the condom and the way that the latex bloats inside him. Bokuto doesn’t pull away, though, and instead he slots his tongue inside Akaashi’s mouth and reaches down to jerk him off.

They lay back down next to each other in the afterglow, spent and overheating. Bokuto isn’t touching him, his limbs sprawled out messily some few inches away, but he dutifully passes over the Kleenex when Akaashi asks for it.

Maybe Akaashi already made up his mind, or maybe he only truly decided as he pulled his underwear back up around his hips. It snags against Akaashi’s damp skin, gets soaked by the lube dripping out of his ass.

“Let’s break up.” Akaashi says, and it doesn’t even feel bitter because he’s said the same words countless times. He rolls onto his side, eyes boring into Bokuto’s.

Bokuto averts his gaze, combs back loose strands of hair, then folds his arms behind his head. He’s stubbornly glaring at the ceiling. “Why do you have to do this, Akaashi?”

A flash of anger propels Akaashi to his feet. Have they really devolved to this state? There’s no remorse in Bokuto’s expression, not a single apology or crocodile tear. But Bokuto has gone through the trouble of letting Akaashi down so many times that there’s really nothing left that Akaashi should expect from him. Not even the decency to admit to his own grievous mistakes.

Akaashi is only truly angry at himself. He’s the glutton for punishment, here, coming back to Bokuto time after time like a pathetic leech. He knows what he’s getting himself into every time, yet he still does it like an alcoholic desperate for just another tiny taste of vodka.

Akaashi storms around their small apartment, collecting his things and ignoring Bokuto – who’s sitting cross-legged on the tatami, observing Akaashi exasperatedly. The fact that Bokuto isn’t taking him seriously just fuels his fury, and Akaashi fumes as he puts on actual pants and dumps his things in a duffle.

Akaashi can always get the rest of the things another day, but right now he just can’t stand sharing the apartment with Bokuto. That look- that horrible, nonchalant look on Bokuto’s face just makes Akaashi want to hurt him.

“Don’t leave, Akaashi,” Bokuto sighs, getting up off the ground like it’s a chore. He latches himself onto Akaashi’s back as he passes by the kitchen. It smells like rotten food, and Akaashi wrinkles his nose. Bokuto doesn’t seem phased. He just wraps his thick arms around Akaashi, tight but not restrictive. “Please?”

Akaashi shrugs him off, goes to tug his feet into his shoes a little too aggressively. “That stopped working after the fifth time, Bokuto-san.”

“What the fuck do you want me to do?” Bokuto makes a frustrated sound as he leans against the wall. He crosses his arms over his chest defensively, and Akaashi can tell that he took Akaashi’s refusal as a personal attack. “Crawl on all fours? Beg on my knees?”

Akaashi glares at him. An apology would be nice. An apology isn’t even hard to do. His hands tighten around the strap of his heavy bag. “Goodbye, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto’s face finally cracks, rage and uncertainty dancing through his features because Akaashi has never actually packed his things and left their apartment, has never chosen to abandon Bokuto like this. Akaashi has always been the attentive one, the one who would never turn a blind eye to the person he loves- or rather loved.

Akaashi hesitates, just for a split-second, and Bokuto sees it. He tries lunging forward, mouth open in what is probably yet another attempt at manipulation, but Akaashi hisses and ducks outside.

“You’ll be back!” Bokuto calls, vindictively, even as the door slams in his face.

Akaashi swears at the closed door, then stalks away with more curses spilling from his lips. It’s true that Akaashi is bad at keeping away from his addictions. It’s one of the things he hates most about himself, because Bokuto and his kisses are the most dangerous addiction that he has.

Akaashi can almost feel his will crumbling with every tender peck, every passionate make-out. He can almost feel the slow destruction of his soul.

The stifling heat of the day has finally given way to the cool of approaching night. Akaashi takes a deep breath as he stops at a traffic light. His head feels clear for the first time in a long time, uncluttered by sweltering humidity and undaunted by misplaced worries.

Akaashi needs to start thinking of himself, needs to start putting himself first. He needs to get over his unhealthy addictions, because they are tearing him apart.

Akaashi knows all this, he _knows_ , yet he still stops at the nearest train station to light a cigarette. He inhales a deep, calming breath and feels his lungs fill with toxin; pulls his phone out of his pocket and scrolls through the messages lighting it up.

Akaashi sighs, smoke dispersing in the twilight breeze.

{End}


End file.
